Before I Decay
by idreamedofstardust
Summary: With Hannibal's extracurricular activities, it's often forgotten that he's a successful psychologist. His newest patient may test the limits of that success.
1. Chapter 1

**I am going to write Hannibal Lecter a bit differently for the purpose of this story. He will be slightly out of character, so prior apologies for that.** **I can't promise frequent updating for this story. It's winter break for me and I've finally had the time to sit down and just write without some sort of due date on the horizon. However, I am attached to my character and her truth and the plot I'm still working out, so there's a good chance I'll keep putting effort into this, if anyone wants more. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1- Week 1  
Monday, 1:57 PM**

"How many weeks do I have to go?"

Detective Lawson glanced at me. She attempted to offer a comforting smile, but she was too severe of a woman to pull it off. In the time that we'd been acquainted with each other, I had never seen her with makeup on, which might have softened the sharp contours of her face; nor did she ever take down the tightly-wound bun she kept her ash-brown hair in, which aided in the tightening of skin across her high cheekbones.

"Generally, it's a six week process. However, considering the... _uniqueness_ of your case, eight weeks is mandatory."

Closing my eyes, I nodded.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted.

"Are you doing alright?"

"Yes," I lied, eyes flying open.

I followed her as she approached a desk.

I probably should have been paying more attention to my surroundings, considering she wouldn't be here to take me to the remaining sessions, but my mind had difficulty completing this task.

I halfheartedly listened to Detective Lawson relay my information to the secretary. My eyes wandered over to a stack of magazines and newspapers. The top newspaper's headline read _Chesapeake Ripper Strikes Again._

Releasing a deep exhale, I slipped my fingers beneath the coat sleeve of my opposite arm. Upon running the pads of my fingers over the long, puffy scar tissue, my nails sank down into the skin.

A low whimper escaped my throat. I coughed, in an attempt to disguise it.

"Robin."

My head snapped up at Detective Lawson's voice.

Inhaling sharply, I retracted my nails from my skin and formed a fist.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Lecter is ready to see you."

She led me to a door. One hand went to rest on my elbow.

"Are you okay to do this? You've been handling this whole ordeal rather well. A part of me is a little concerned."

"You don't have to worry," I assured.

She dropped her hand and smiled. A real one, this time.

"Call me when you're finished with the session and I'll pick you up. Also, try not to be intimidated by Dr. Lecter's frankness. He's already read all the important details regarding your case. Eight weeks may seem like a long time, but for him, it will be short. He will attempt to cover a lot of ground."

"I understand."

"Good. I want to tell you how proud I am of the progress you've made," Lawson acknowledged. "Think of this as a final stepping stone for moving on to the rest of your life."

I nodded, unable to think of a proper response. While I appreciated her compliment, I didn't fully believe it. In instances like these, I found it best to remain quiet and keep the insecurities locked away. Ungratefulness was such an ugly visage.

We exchanged a final goodbye before she departed.

I knocked on the door. The light snack of water and goldfish crackers earlier this morning, made my stomach clench and rumble. Thankfully, this was the only discomfort I felt.

It was odd that I wasn't more nervous. Or perhaps the weariness of retelling my story to the numerous detectives in Topeka, wore away whatever anxieties I'd had.

"Come in."

Gingerly, I opened the door. Who I presumed to be Dr. Lecter, sat with one leg hitched overtop his other, in a leather chair. A notepad and with what I assumed was the papers of my information, sat balanced on his knee. His attention was on it, until I closed the door.

"Miss Heleski, please, have a seat."

I stared at him for a moment, off-put by a detail in his expression. What was it?

Ah, yes...the smile. It mimicked the one my stepmother wore when I came home from school breaks. The one pasted on my father's face as he listened to Dr. Emerson's recommendation.

Polite, stiff, detached.

I had the sudden urge to turn and sprint out of the office. Generally, I was never wrong in my presumptions regarding the people with these sort of smiles.

But, I denied the urge. These eight weeks were mandatory, whether I liked it or not. Plus, Detective Lawson had been insistent Dr. Lecter was one of the best psychologists in the country. For everything she'd done on my behalf, I figured I could push down my discomfort for the time being and give him a chance.

"Thank you," I finally answered.

His eyes followed me as I walked to the empty chair across from him and sat. Unsure with what to do with my hands, I rested them atop my thighs.

"Are you alright?"

The question startled me. Was he already that acute to my emotional state?

However, upon looking at him, I realized his eyes were drawn to my right hand. Three of the fingernails were stained with drying blood.

"Yes. Sorry."

I balled my hand into a fist and retracted it into the sleeve of my coat; hidden from his perceptive gaze.

We made eye contact, and I fought the instinct to look away. His eyes were a hardened brown, and he never once blinked. I gathered he often initiated eye contact with others, and rarely was the first to look away.

When I had yet to lower my gaze, the corner of his lips, twitched.

"Not as timid as the reports would have me believe."

Mercifully, he lowered his gaze to the papers on his knee. I released a quiet sigh.

"Did they say I was weak?" I asked.

"Timid," he maintained, glancing up at me. "I've never quite liked the word 'weak' to describe a victim, especially if they've had an encounter such as yours. One could hardly blame you for your reaction."

Unsure of what to say, I kept my mouth closed.

"Do you know why you are here?"

I leaned back in the chair, attempting to relax. "Detective Lawson told me it was so I could talk about what happened. So I could accept it and move on."

My lips parted to say more, but I thought better of it.

"Go on," Dr. Lecter announced, sensing my hesitation.

"That's what she told me," I explained, looking at a nearby bookshelf. "But, I think it's because they want you to interrogate me, without making it seem like it's an interrogation. The information I told them helped, but they're frustrated I don't know more. And with how brutal Thomas is, they know it's only a matter of time before he kidnaps and tortures someone again. I think they're hoping you can get me to reveal more."

Upon glancing back at him, Dr. Lecter was expressionless, though I noted a slight shift forward in his posture.

"And do you know more?"

"No. I told them everything."

I couldn't tell if he believed me or not.

"You address him by name," Dr. Lecter redirected. "Did he ask you to?"

It was difficult to bury my surprise. So far, his line of questioning didn't match up with that of the police.

"Yes."

Dr. Lecter nodded. He rested an elbow on his chair.

"You are correct in your theory, Miss Heleski. I have been hired to evaluate you. For the next eight weeks, the detectives in charge of your case, hope I may bring to light something you may have neglected to tell them."

"I told them everything," I insisted.

"I apologize, that was a careless choice of words on my part. They hope I may be able to extract details that you might have forgotten."

My brows knitted together.

"Do not think of it as a flaw on your part," he assuaged. "Thus far, you have given them more information about this serial killer than the four years they spent tracking him. By all accounts, your intelligence exceeds theirs."

I cocked my head. "I'm glad you speak so highly of them."

His smile lacked the stiffness of his last one.

"It can be both a blessing and a curse that the police are not more efficient at their jobs."

"Which is it for you?"

I asked without meaning to. The way Dr. Lecter regarded the police, prodded at my curiosity.

He aimed his gaze down at the paper on his lap. From my vantage point, I could still see his smile.

"A curse, of course."

There was an amusement in his tone that made me wish to explore his answer more. Thankfully, I refrained. Already, I got the impression Dr. Lecter chose his words wisely. I couldn't be sure an exploration would even garner a satisfying response.

"I would like to start by getting to know you," he began. "No case can be solved if the characters of those involved, are left unexplored."

I shifted in the chair. "How important am I really to this investigation?"

Dr. Lecter looked up at me. A curious amount of intensity was directed at me through his eyes.

"From these reports, I know next to nothing about you, Miss Heleski, other than the standard details. While the good detectives may believe you were spared as a result of good luck and quick thinking, I believe differently. Thomas could have killed you, but decided not to. The average lifespan of his victims is three days. You were with him for three weeks. Something about you enticed him."

I grimaced at his choice of words and looked away. Mentally, I blessed the prescription I was on. It prevented me from feeling the full effect of what he'd said.

"What do you want to know?" I asked quietly.

"Whether it brings you discomfort or relief to realize you enticed him."

"I'd rather not talk about that."

"Fair enough," he acknowledged. "None of the questions I ask you, require an answer. Your comfort, above all else, is the focus."

Rather than soothe me, I felt worse. That my discomfort was held in such high regard, seemed wrong. If there was a chance that the case could be solved, then damn my own comfort! If there was a chance that Thomas could be caught...

I shook my head. Thomas wasn't an idiot. Far from it, in fact. As grotesque as his mannerisms and emotions could be, his intellect was profound. He wouldn't allow himself to get caught unless he wanted to.

"They're never going to catch him."

I hadn't meant to say it, but couldn't afford to feel the proper regret once the words were out. I knew it was true.

"I need you to understand that," I continued, meeting his gaze. "The police aren't going to catch him, even if I remember new details."

"Why not?"

"Inefficiency."

I didn't elaborate, and Dr. Lecter didn't ask me to. I think he understood what I meant to say.

"Then let us pretend as if you have never been questioned by the police. Let us pretend that you have escaped from where Thomas kept you, and I am the first person to sit with you and ask about your experience. Furthermore, I hold an insatiable curiosity about who Robin Heleski is."

"I'm not important."

At his blank stare, I reiterated.

"Thomas could have kept any of his victims for a longer period of time. That he chose me is nothing but dumb luck."

"That may be, but for my own sake, I would like to judge that."

"I don't understand."

His stare was unflinching. "Call me curious."

"I thought your name was Dr. Lecter."

He tilted his head, expression unreadable. "You become unusually defensive when confronted by the topic of your own self worth."

"There's eight more weeks of this?" I mumbled.

"Do you think ten weeks would be more sufficient?"

He asked it with such a straight face that I nearly missed the fact he was teasing me.

"I think I'd rather not see you again after this session."

"I appreciate the honesty. It only helps conclude my analysis."

"You work fast."

"You are becoming easier to read."

"Then there's no use for me to talk about myself."

A long silence stretched between us before Dr. Lecter emitted the most natural smile I'd witnessed on him.

"Your father or your stepmother?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm not following you."

"Which one was more upset when you were diagnosed with major depression disorder?"

He must have known I wasn't going to answer, because he continued shortly after.

"That is why you were out so late at night, in such a rundown part of Topeka, correct? To attain anti-depressants from a drug dealer."

Hesitantly, I nodded. "He was a younger guy I knew through a friend from college. It was his second year as a licensed pharmacologist. He was trying to make some extra cash on the side to repay his student loans."

"You failed to mention in the report, that you knew him."

"I didn't want him to get in trouble. He helped me more than my dad and stepmother ever did after I was diagnosed. By all accounts, he's a good guy in my book."

Dr. Lecter uncapped a pen from the front pocket of his tailored, maroon suit. As he began to scribble notes down, I was hit by a wave of panic.

"You're not going to tell the police that I knew him, are you?"

"A counterproductive act on my part," came his smooth response. "Though, if this is how you still receive your anti-depressants, I would advise you to be more cautious. It is not uncommon for dealers, no matter how affluent their status in society, to hook their clients by lacing depressants with something more addicting."

I listened to the scratching of his pen against the paper.

"Thanks."

He glanced up. "What for?"

"Caring enough to say that."

This time, I couldn't maintain eye contact with him and felt relief upon looking down.

A few seconds later and his pen resumed its scratching. The silence quickly turned suffocating. I didn't enjoy the topics dipping their toes into the forefront of my mind. How Dr. Lecter managed to pull them from me, I still wasn't entirely sure. I'd already revealed more to him than I did to the police. Could this be considered a sign of progress?

"It was my father."

His pen froze. I kept my gaze aimed down, suddenly finding his carpet extremely fascinating. If I squinted hard enough, I could make out one stiff, red strand among a sea of bristled silver.

"I started getting really bad in high school, but blamed it on things like stress and bad friendships and the atmosphere at home. My father was a successful architect and my stepmother, a wedding planner. We had a lot of money...but...they weren't the...nicest people."

Closing my eyes, I attempted to focus on even breathing.

"I tried to kill myself my second year of college. I bought some razor blades at a nearby hardware store and cut open my wrists. Everyone tells me that it was lucky my roommate had been home. I call it bad timing. Even now, I wish I could go back and do it somewhere...different."

"Why did you do it there?"

I shrugged. "I wanted to die somewhere comfortable."

When he didn't respond, I continued. "After a month stay at a hospital, my father was ordered to get me checked out by a professional."

"Ordered?" Dr. Lecter repeated. "I can think only of a handful scenarios where an order could be legally issued."

Releasing a deep exhale, I opened my eyes.

"They were concerned with the state my body was in."

He maintained his silence. A part of me thought it was intentional. He wanted me to say it.

Raising my arm, I waved it down the length of my body.

"I practiced...self-mutilation."

The word sounded uglier than ever before. And a shame existed in me now, that hadn't been around then.

"For pleasure?"

"I'm not a...I forget what you call it."

"Masochist?" he offered.

"Yes. I'm not that. That's not what it did for me. I think...it was more to punish myself for all the ways I didn't consider myself enough. It always hurt, but, I never regretted it and it became insignificant to the emotions I felt."

A laugh shot out of me, causing my throat to throb dully.

"This is so bizarre," I whispered, shaking my head.

My eyes were so focused on the little strand of red in the carpet that I nearly missed Dr. Lecter's question.

"What is?"

"You are only the second person who has wondered about how it made me feel."

Dr. Lecter's leather seat squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight.

"Was Thomas the first?"

My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip so hard that I momentarily went numb. Slowly, I released the abused piece of flesh and breathed out.

"Yes. What does that say about you?"

When he didn't answer immediately, I scratched the back of my neck. I wasn't sure if it was the subject matter or my posture that was making me itchy.

"I saw a psychiatrist named Dr. Emerson," I went on. "There were the preliminary questions, some blood tests, and a machine that scanned my brain wave activity. Because we could afford it, my father had it all done. I think for him, it was more to disprove that I could somehow be abnormal."

A harsh _knock_ against the door, jolted me from my focus. A quick glance at Dr. Lecter showed me a cold glare aimed at the door.

"Yes?"

I was impressed at how polite he managed to sound.

"Dr. Lecter, Will Graham is here-."

"Not now, Elena," he interrupted. "I have a full thirteen minutes left with my patient."

The voice wasn't put off by the order.

"He insists it's urgent."

I felt myself growing tense at the expression on Dr. Lecter's face.

"I can go," I blurted, rising to my feet. "It's no problem."

Dr. Lecter turned to me. "Sit."

I gave him a half smile. "See you on Thursday."

He didn't say anything else as I walked to the door and exited the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A small amount of interest has been gained, so to all those who have this on alert and have reviewed, enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Week 1  
Monday, 2:55 PM**

"Sorry I couldn't get you something fancier."

I swallowed the six fries I'd stuffed into my mouth.

"Is fine," I mumbled, covering my mouth with one hand. "This is comfort food, which I need."

Detective Lawson relaxed in her seat. She took a sip from her diet coke.

"I probably should have asked this first," she said. "How do you like Dr. Lecter?"

Taking a bite out of my hamburger, I shrugged. "Too soon to tell. You were right about him being smart."

"I've been told he can be quite..."

"Impersonal?" I offered. "Cold?"

"You don't like him."

I studied an old grease stain on the table.

"I think if you are regarded as highly as he is, it's not because you're personable," came my careful response. "He's one of the most objective people I've ever met. Which is good. I don't need another person feeling pity for me. He's doing his job."

She released a sigh at that.

"We've tried this before. Handing off some of our victims who survived traumatic ordeals, to him. They're not as...receptive to his treatment as you are."

"I'm not under the impression he's there to cure me."

"On that topic, how've you been feeling since the new medication?"

"More balanced," I answered honestly. "Some semblance of happy, even, if that's possible."

"I'm really glad."

We finished our meals in comfortable silence.

Afterwards, I let her drive me home. That silence was a little less amicable, due to the conversation that arose.

"Reporters are a nuisance," she mentioned off-handedly. "We're fighting them left and right, trying to protect your identity."

Frowning, I turned to her.

"Grace-."

She'd never heard me use her first name before. It was a minor detail I remember absorbing from the police officer who handed me off to her. I used it now to relay my unhappiness with the subject matter.

"-I will never get peace if they learn my name. I can imagine it already. Non stop phone calls, reporters crowded in my front lawn, getting asked to be on talk shows-it's repulsive. No one can know I'm the victim that got away from him."

"They won't," she promised. "You're legally protected. It's just become...difficult. Your situation-."

"I'm not a situation," I snapped, twisting my head away to peer into the darkness. "I'm a human being. Is it too much to ask that I be treated like one?"

Detective Lawson didn't respond to that.

Only when she stopped outside my house, did she speak again.

"Someone on the force has been spilling sensitive information to a reporter. We don't know who it is or how they receive their information. I'm sorry."

"Do they know-?"

"No," she insisted, turning to me. "Only a handful of detectives know who you are. Your information is locked away, and not easily accessible."

I nodded, staring ahead. "But, you are warning me."

Her sigh worried me.

"Yes. Until we find out who it is and just how much access to information they have, there remains a danger that your connection to the Topeka murders can be discovered."

"Great."

"Robin."

Evening out my expression, I looked at her.

"I understand your frustration, both with myself and the police force. You gave us a goldmine of information, and we still haven't managed to catch the bastard yet. You and everyone he's ever harmed, deserve justice. We _will_ find him."

I had so many counterpoints to respond with, but thought better of it and stayed quiet. Clearly, this felt cathartic for Detective Lawson to say. For the moment, I'd allow her her false sense of security. Which sounds mean, doesn't it? But she was so convinced Thomas was just a step away from being caught. I wasn't in the mood to argue that he wasn't.

"I'm heading to Topeka tomorrow morning," she announced. "Is there anything you want me to get from your house? I'll be doing a quick debriefing with your father and stepmother about how you've been holding up."

"No, I'm all set." I paused _._ "Don't tell him about the medication I'm on. He still thinks the money he sends each week, is being used on groceries and going out."

"Do you think that's best?"

My glare caused her to drop her eyes to her lap.

"I know it's tempting to get lost in his 'oh, my poor daughter' facade," I said, unable to keep the anger absent from my voice, "but, he doesn't give a damn about me. Not the way he should. If he found out I'm getting help for my depression, he would stop playing the role of the concerned father in a heartbeat."

After a few seconds of tense silence, she nodded.

"Grace," I reaffirmed, "please, don't say anything. To him, normality equal stability. Trust me, it's best he doesn't know."

"Okay," she agreed, meeting my eyes. "I won't tell him."

I released a sigh, sinking back into the seat. My eyes returned ahead, fixing themselves on the nearest streetlamp.

"I just wish...you had someone."

My heart warmed at the sentiment. This seemed to be the only positive to result from the aftermath of all that had happened. I got assigned to be looked after someone who actually gave a damn about my well being. And even though that contact would end permanently tomorrow (she had a job, after all) I knew if I ever needed anything, she'd answer my phone call and do her best to help.

"If you ever need something-."

I smiled in the darkness, wishing I could properly illustrate my gratitude. I always got so tongue tied around people who went out of their way to make my comfort, their priority. Because so little of it occurred in my life, there wasn't a familiar incident I could tap into to express what I felt.

"-call me."

"I will."

We traded a few last minute pleasantries before I exited the vehicle. With a final wave, she sped off.

 **Thursday, 2:01 PM**

Dr. Lecter's muteness made me nervous. Other than a cordial 'hello' and 'come in' (this time around, he greeted me at his door) the man was all but silent. His eyes were focused on the notepad and papers on his lap, and after a minute of no communication, I started to feel a little on edge.

"I must apologize for how our last session ended," he announced. "I normally don't have such rude interruptions."

"It's alright," I assured, glancing at the door. "I noticed your lack of a secretary today."

Glancing up, Dr. Lecter kept his face neutral.

"A permanent reassignment. "

I nodded, unsure what to say.

"Is it cold in here?" he asked, eyes falling to the sleeves of my coat. "I am happy to adjust the temperature."

In any other circumstance, I would have thought the suggestion sincere and nothing more than what it was. However, the room was toasty already and from what I observed previously of Dr. Lecter, I knew there was a hidden point to his asking. In fact, I knew exactly what way he hoped to steer the conversation.

"I'm fine, thank you." His lips briefly quirked up at the swift response. "You're very clothed for such a comfortable room temperature. Feel free to shed a layer or two, Doctor."

I'd meant for it to come out as a challenge, proving I wasn't intimidated by his questions. Unfortunately, my tone was a little more... _breathy_ than I intended. And the slow smirk spreading across Dr. Lecter's face, only served to heighten my own embarrassment. I could feel the fire erupting in my cheeks.

"If the presence of clothing bothers you, I can suggest another activity that may satisfy your appetite."

My throat closed up.

"No thank you," I mumbled, unable to maintain eye contact.

The sudden tension in the room made it difficult to breathe evenly. In part, I was taken aback at how easily he managed to wrestle the control from me. In any conversation topic, Dr. Lecter was not a man easily ruffled.

"Detective Lawson left today," I offered, wishing to diverge the subject to safer waters. "She and the others on the case, are going to be re-investigating the warehouse I escaped from."

A glance up at Dr. Lecter sent a wave of relief through me. Once more, he appeared composed and analytical.

"You believe it is a pointless venture."

"He doesn't leave behind anything unless he wants to."

Dr. Lecter nodded. He peeked at his lap.

"Do you remember what I said to you during our last session? About wanting to hear details from you as if the incident just occurred."

I nodded.

"I hope to still incorporate this. Because of the security doctor-patient confidentiality offers, very little of what you say, unless it involves harming yourself or someone else, will go past these walls."

"But you have an obligation," I pointed out. "To tell the police any critical information."

"I do," he agreed, smiling briefly. "But I also have an obligation to create an atmosphere where you are able to freely discuss your thoughts, no matter how mundane or unconventional they may be. I maintain what I said about wishing to know you, Miss Heleski. I am not here to lay judgment, only make helpful observations that may aid you in moving past this event. Merely regurgitating the details of what occurred, will not contribute to any meaningful progress."

"Have I been regurgitating things?"

"Quite the opposite. I find your honesty, refreshing."

I studied him for a moment. "How unconventional am I allowed to be?"

"The very nature of the human being is submerged beneath social rules and conditioned behavior. Without a strong sense of right and wrong ingrained in us from infancy, you'll find that our thoughts are not as orthodox. Often, I encounter people who struggle to explain their true thoughts while balancing the obligation to respond according to how you have been taught to."

Though he spoke hypothetically, his words made my chest ache. I understood what he wanted from me, but I wasn't sure if I could release that level of honesty. My own thoughts terrified me at times. I carried the belief that burying them would be a safer alternative to saying them aloud.

"Food for thought," Dr. Lecter remarked, sensing my unease. "I don't mean to impose regulations on what you divulge. Though, it is worth noting that you are handling your traumatic experience better than many would in your situation."

"It's almost been a month. You have to move on eventually."

Dr. Lecter narrowed his gaze as he searched my face. I attempted to remain expressionless, but it was a tough feat under his scrutiny.

"Are you currently on anti-depressants, legally or otherwise?"

"Yes," I answered. "Detective Lawson recommended a psychiatrist to me from a Baltimore mental health hospital. I think Dr. Frederick Chilton was his name? We managed a way for me to get prescriptions without it showing up on my father's insurance."

His jaw tightened.

"I needed them," I insisted, not thrilled about his displeasure. "Or I'd be in a much worse place."

"I don't disagree with that."

He didn't elaborate, and I chose not to pursue it.

"There is, however, a mild concern I have about whether the medication is inhibiting your mind's ability to process your experiences."

"Is it not enough that I'm balanced for the first time in forever?" I defended. "Am I expected to cry and snivel too, as I recount those three weeks in captivity? Do you want me to groan about how unfair it is that this is happening to me? Would that make your job easier? More entertaining?"

I was suddenly leaning forward in my chair, filled with a whirlwind of pent up energy. It felt as if he were blaming me for this rare inner peace I was experiencing, no doubt due to the medication. I didn't take kindly to it.

"Just because I'm handling my situation better than most, does not mean it's preventing me from coming to terms with what happened."

Dr. Lecter's posture remained stiff, though his tone thankfully softened. "I've upset you."

Rather than answer, I stood. Not wishing to face him, my feet wandered to the nearest bookshelf. He didn't comment when I stopped in front of the shelf and lowered my head, back facing him. One hand crawled out from beneath my coat sleeve. I used it to peel back the sleeve of my opposite arm.

Something harsh pinched my chest as I observed the long, marred scar straddling the middle of my wrist. Gritting my teeth, my nails bit down into the skin. I shut my eyes.

A low, strained sound escaped my throat. I worked on drawing out my breaths.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

When the ache became nothing more than a dull pressure, I opened my eyes and retracted my nails. Three bloody, crescent shaped indents greeted me.

I blinked once.

"Here, let me."

Nearly jumping at his sudden presence, I turned to him, eyes wide. Dr. Lecter gently grasped my wrist and with his free hand, pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket. With a near non-existent pressure, he dabbed at the small wounds. I focused on the rough pads of his fingers, never once tightening on my wrist. Out of nowhere, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me.

"How many hours of sleep do you get?"

He asked this without once looking up at me.

"Five, if I'm lucky. I used to take sleeping pills, but had to stop because they didn't mix well with the anti-depressants."

Dabbing one final speckle of blood, Dr. Lecter lifted the handkerchief, his thumb softly brushing over the scar. It was an oddly tender moment, and rather than feel it inappropriate, I was thankful for the gesture.

"Do you suffer from nightmares?"

I found it difficult to lie at such a close proximity. I felt as if Dr. Lecter would immediately be able to detect it.

"No. It's more of... _what if_ scenarios. I blame myself a lot."

"You have no reason to."

I lowered my wrist. "I know. It's a flaw that's always existed in me."

My eyes wandered down to my wrist.

"How long have you used your nails to harm yourself?"

Inhaling, I looked up at him. Amidst the unsteadiness I felt, his hard gaze was an anchor. How odd it was that his eyes could both be a source of unease and stability.

"Ever since I escaped from the warehouse," I admitted. "But, I view it less as self harm and more of coping. It grounds me anytime my emotions get to be too much or I go to a place I can't handle."

"This is not the same coping method you used, prior to your encounter with Thomas?"

The weight of what I wished to say, sank down on my tongue. Dr. Lecter, ever perceptive, patiently watched the emotions filter across my face.

"No," I finally answered, glancing down. "Um, about nine years back, I was babysitting my stepsister, Erica. I think one of my stepmom's clients had invited her and dad to a wedding, so they were going to come home late. At the time, Erica was always hyper. Her mom wasn't too concerned with what she ate, so she'd be pumped up with sugar and energy almost every night. I didn't see it happen, only heard her scream and the sound of something shatter on the floor. She had tripped and ran full force into this ugly, antique cheval mirror my dad had. I think he liked the Baroque design around it. She wasn't hurt too badly, just had a huge bump on her forehead. But, she did manage to knock the mirror over. There was glass everywhere and she was lucky she didn't cut open her foot."

"What was your father's reaction to Erica's clumsiness?"

My lips twisted into a humorless smile. "Erica cried so much after I cleaned her up. She was eight at the time. She'd seen my dad get angry at me before, and she didn't want that anger directed at her. So, I took the blame. My dad was livid, of course, but nothing he said wasn't something I hadn't heard before."

I tilted my head.

"The thing about my dad," I explained, "is that he never gets physical and never yells. He's so calm in his anger that you almost manage to convince yourself that what he's saying, isn't abusive."

When Dr. Lecter remained silent, I glanced up.

"Sorry, I think I got off track a bit."

"It is your time to talk about whatever you wish," he soothed.

My eyes found the clock in the room. Not even a full five minutes remained.

Dr. Lecter followed my gaze.

"Would you be opposed to extending your thirty minute sessions to a full hour?"

When I didn't answer right away, Dr. Lecter turned to me, brows slightly raised.

"I-sure. If you think it's necessary."

"I do. Beginning next session, if that is permissible."

"Okay."

Before I could take a step toward the door, Dr. Lecter spoke again.

"Your method of self harm?"

"The shards of glass from the mirror," I answered, nearly forgetting why I had brought up the memory. "I kept pieces of them, under my mattress. For whenever..."

The temptation of the door and the freedom outside it, called to me. Dr. Lecter was, thankfully, sympathetic.

"Until next time, Miss Heleski."

I nodded and without another glance his way, headed to the door.

Once the door was firmly shut, Hannibal walked back to his chair and sat. He lifted the handkerchief he'd been grasping in his right hand, spotted with blood, up to his nose. A moment later and he slowly inhaled, eyes closing.

He relaxed in his chair. The aroma forced a deep, pleased sigh out of his throat. Hannibal smiled.


End file.
